


drunk text

by silentfaith



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunk Texting, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentfaith/pseuds/silentfaith
Summary: 'you're beautiful'Agent Ward does not blush, not even if his super-secret crush texts him saying he's beautiful. Grant, however, is positive he's blushing and thankful he's alone in the living room, with only the light of Scooby-Doo from the TV proving that he can and does feel the human emotion of "oh fuck a cute boy complimented me."





	drunk text

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i have a lot of things i should be doing other than this but here we go have this self indulgent bit of fitzward

Ward is confused.

_'you're beautiful'_

Ward blinks and clicks the lock button for his phone. He opens it back up and reads the text again. And again.

It isn't that Ward hadn't been called beautiful before. It was rare, and every instance he could feel his ears burn, but it never actually mattered before. But, now. This isn't just a text.

This was a text from Leo Fitz. The man who smiles at Ward whenever their eyes meet during briefings; who watches him in the shooting range just to say "Nice shootin', Tex," in the absolute worst southern accent possible when Ward knows he has a better one; the man who found Ward crying at two in the morning against the kitchen counter and cried with him because he's a sympathetic crier, of fucking course he is; the man who sends him selfies with dogs he meets when he takes a walk around whatever city they've landed outside of. The man Grant has been maybe somewhat in love with for a while now.

Agent Ward does not blush, not even if his super-secret crush texts him saying he's beautiful. Grant, however, is positive he's blushing and thankful he's alone in the living room, with only the light of Scooby-Doo from the TV proving that he can and does feel the human emotion of "oh fuck a cute boy complimented me."

Why, though? Why now? Grant knows Leo went out with Skye, so why -

Right. Fitz went out with Skye. They are most definitively getting wasted at this moment in time. Shaking his head (though unable to wipe the fond smile off his face) he types out a response.

_'You're drunk.'_

Not even thirty seconds later does his phone chirp. Drawing his eyes away from mystery of the week, he finds a new text from Fitz. He types in his password (weedlord87: Skye's doing, he just never bothered to change it) and nearly throws his phone across the room.

_'doesnt change the fcat that im completly enamored with you.'_

Enamored. That's quite a word that no one's used to describe their feelings towards him before. And it is definite proof that Fitz is drunk, along with typos. Fitz is immaculate in his typing until he's got at least four shots in him.

Grant should have expected this. Still, the disappointment curls up in his ribcage and settles in for the night, content in it's longtime home. Something else, a bit newer and sharper, hits him in the middle of his chest. The impact leaves a burning in his throat that he can't swallow and a pain in his head that makes him tighten his grip on his phone. It's a long moment before he's released from his impromptu pity part, and then it's only when there's an audible crack from the plastic phone case giving way in his hands. 

After a close inspection, he determines the phone case is fine. He self-confidence has taken a blow, but it's nothing that can't be repaired in time. He locks his phone and sets it on the coffee table. He won't look at it for the rest of the night, and whatever awkward conversations and take-backs tomorrow brings, so be it.

 

Fitz and Skye stumble onto the Bus around three, and it takes them a good ten minutes to arrive at the kitchen where Ward and May lean against the counter, late night conversation on pause, and drink tea (Ward only holds his mug for the soothing warmth it provides, since he's not really a tea drinker.) Skye sidles up to Ward and warps her arms around him.

"Ward, tell Fitz that I'm your favorite."

Ward scoffs. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it's true," she replies, shrugging and dragging out the last word to a drunken tune.

Fitz slumps heavily against the counter next to May, making a happy noise as she passes him a mug of tea, and slurs out a reply. It takes a second for Ward to decipher, "No, it isn't."

"Yea-huh. Tell him, Ward!" Skye says, leaning nearly her full weight against him, forcing him to draw an arm around her waist to keep her from pitching to the floor when he shifts to set his tea down.

"Skye, I don't have favorites." Skye throws her head back and groans something about Ward being insufferable "And if I did," he adds, noting how the two drunks perk up, "it would be Jemma, since she doesn't go out and drink so much that she has to be carried to bed. Which both of you have done. Just this month."

"May," Skye whines and takes an unsteady step towards the older woman. May, to her credit, merely opens her arms and let's the drunk young woman stumble into them. "Ward's being mean. Kick his ass."

"Trust me, Skye," May says, taking a sip of her drink around Skye's back. "If and when Ward's behavior warrants an ass-kicking, I'll be sure to do so."

Ward goes to the sink and rinses out his mug, taking May's and Fitz's too when prompted. "I'll keep that in mind." He dries his hands off and turns to May, one eyebrow raised. "You take that one," he says, gesturing at Skye, who's half asleep against May's side, "and I'll take this one?" He claps Fitz on the shoulder and smiles at him. Fitz looks away, strangely emotionless for a drunk guy.

May nods her assent and ushers Skye out of the room, taking care not to let the girl hit the door frame on the way out, unlike last time. Ward watches them leave before turning to Fitz. 

He's pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands and fiddles with a loose strand at the end, his eyebrows drawn together, looking way too pensive this late at night with his lack of sobriety.

"Ready to call it a night, Fitz?" Ward asks. Fitz looks up briefly during the question, but looks away when Ward says his name. Honestly, at this point, Ward is getting worried.

"You don't have to do this, y'know?" Fitz said, pushing himself away from the counter. "I'm a grown man, I can get back to my room myself." To his credit, he only sways a little bit as he speaks.

"Little too late. Looking after you lightweights has become a routine," he replies, trying to play it off. "Now, c'mon, buddy." He puts a hand on the other man's shoulder, steering him towards the door. "You look dead on your feet."

"Yeah, well. You look dead... That's the end of that sentence."

Ward laughs, louder than he normally would, shocking both himself and his drunk-ass friend. Fitz recovers and laughs with him. It strikes Ward all at once how the other man lights up when he laughs, smiles. It's really quite beautiful -

'you're beautiful'

\- and the blush is back. Hopefully, Fitz is too inebriated and giggly to notice.

"Grant, why's your face all red?"

Damn. "Why are you so drunk?" Nice one, Grant.

Fitz sighs wistfully, slowing their already snail's-pace trek to his room. "'Cause I like you."

"Well - wait, what?" He doesn't mean-? No, of course he doesn't. He past knowing what he's really saying and Ward shouldn't look into it. He shouldn't look into it. He's going to look into it. Ward stops them completely, tugging at Fitz's arm to turn him so that Ward could see his face. Fitz averts his eyes and bites his trembling lip, and oh god he looks like he's about to cry.

May's going to kick his ass.

"Fitz, buddy, it's okay." Ward rubs Fitz's arms in what he hopes to be a comforting gestures, but Fitz hiccups and an actual tear runs down his face and Ward is so not good at this. None of this was covered in the job description. Sighing in frustration and concern, Ward places his hands on the other man's shoulders.

"Fitz," he says, carefully, gently. It takes a second, but slowly Fitz meets his eyes, and Ward wishes he hadn't. The hurt look insights another pang in his chest. "What's wrong?"

"You-!" Fitz starts, anger rising, before he pushes Ward away and stumbles back, knocking into the wall. The anger goes as fast as it came. "You didn't text me back," he answers, voice cracking.

"Oh." Ward is suddenly very interested in the carpet near Fitz's shoes.

"Oh," the man echoes, wrapping his arms around himself. "Just - just forget I said anything, yeah?" Ward looks up to find him retreating. He shakes his head and follows. He wasn't going to fuck up anymore more tonight by letting Fitz trip and get a concussion in his current state. Fitz huffs and turns forward, stalking rather clumsily to his room, eager to escape.

He's thwarted by the door.

Ward listens to the mumbled swears before sighing out the other man's name.

"Shut."

"Shut?"

"Shut up."

Ward rolls his eyes and gently pushes Fitz to the side to open the door with ease, as if it were only a normal door. Which it was. He gives the man a smirk. Fitz just slaps his arm and shoulders past. 

Ward reaches for him before he can get a chance to shut the door in his face, grabbing his hand and squeezing it briefly before loosening his grip enough that Fitz could continue inside and pull away if he wanted to. He doesn't. He freezes, but doesn't tense up. Instead, he seemed to relax completely with Ward's hand in his.

The silence stretches between them, before Fitz tightens his grip, and in an unexpected show of strength, tugs Ward forward into the room and shuts the door. Ward nearly stumbles into him, only just catching himself as his free hand settles on Fitz's waist. He straightens and swallows, his throat very dry, and takes a shaky breath before meeting Fitz's eyes. His expression is one Ward know well from late nights spilling out their anxieties together. His brows are furrowed and he still looks about a second away from crying, a little lost, a little afraid. Maybe a bit hopeful.

He's hesitant to break the silence, and they're already so close, so Ward whispers. "You're beautiful."

Leo breaks into a grin, a startled laugh escaping into the air between them. "I'm a drunken mess." Ward shrugs and nods in agreement, earning more soft laughter as Leo stumbles purposefully into Ward and leans against him, forehead against his chest.

Another shaky inhale to steel himself later, and Ward works up the courage to extract his hand from Leo's only to intertwine their fingers. He feels Leo turn his head to look at their interlocked hands and bring his other arm up to circle Ward, hugging him closer.

Ward reaches up and coaxes Leo's head back so he can look at him, and Leo flashes him a smile that makes the pain in his chest dissipate. He shifts down to leans their foreheads together, noting the way the other's breath hitches.

"Doesn't change the fact that I utterly adore you." 

Leo leans up and Grant regrets that he has to pull away. He can see the disappointment cross Leo's expression. He cups the man's face and the emotion is demoted to a mere pout, causing Grant to chuckle. "I'm not going to kiss you while you're so drunk, Leo."

"I'm not even that drunk," he protests, but he's really not even standing anymore, letting Grant support most of his weight.

"Okay. How many drinks did you have?"

"I lost count after five. Wait, am I counting shots, too?"

"Bed."

"I like the -"

"To sleep."

Leo rolls his eyes with a huff, but pulls away. He still doesn't let go of Grant completely, just adjusts his grip of his hands and pulls him toward the bed before collapsing on it himself. Leo is lucky that Ward is an agent with quick reflexes or Grant would have probably hurt them both. He takes it upon himself to situate them so that he's sure Leo won't roll of the bed or something stupid as drunk people are wont to do. As soon as he draws a blanket over them and settles down, Leo snuggles up to his side. 

"Grant?"

"Yeah?"

"Not even a little kiss?"

He can't help the fond smile that crosses his face as he props himself up on one elbow to kiss Leo on the forehead. He can hear the tiny sigh he gets in response but Leo just nuzzles his head into Grant's shoulder. "In the morning, when I'm painfully sober, you better kiss me."

"Trust me, that's the first thing I'm going to do."

 

It is. The kiss is warm from shared body heat and tastes just a tad bit like tequila. It's absolutely perfect, and the sleepy grin Grant gets from Leo is stunning, bedhead and all. 

The second thing he does is get Fitz - thankfully, a little less grumpy than he previously was - some painkillers, water, and a few pancakes. He snags from May, who made them for hungover Skye. When they walk into the common area after a breakfast in bed, a little closer than usual and hands brushing as they move, no one says a thing.

Skye is too hungover to notice, and Jemma is too busy laughing as Skye insists she's dying for real this time. Coulson shakes his head in mock fatherly disapproval before going to his office. May, sitting on a chair perpendicular to the girls, takes one glance at the boys and locks eyes with Ward, giving him the tiniest of nods to confirm her Melinda May Seal of Approval. 

Leo must have noticed it too, because he bumps shoulders with Ward and before standing on tiptoe to peck his cheek. Ward sighs, feeling light, and kisses Fitz's forehead. He's happy.


End file.
